A Picture's Worth a Loving Memory
by bigtreydawg
Summary: Ororo discovers an old painting in her attic that Peter Rasputin made of her. Please review this fic, any commentary is appreciated. Anybody that ever been a fan of Colossus will love this. Also; rated pg-13 for tasteful nudity.


Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel.  
  
*****  
  
A Picture's Worth a Loving Memory  
  
While sorting through a few boxes I have stored up here in the attic I have run across a few personal things of mine. Jewels of sorts, a couple things go so far back as my days running the streets with Gambit. But this... I feel my heart flutter inside of my chest.  
  
It is a large painting, framed. I can not see it clearly because of all the dust on top of the glass frame but I immediately know what it is. I take my fingers and wipe some of the grime off the middle of the painting just to conform what I already know.  
  
I take the bottom of my long dress and wipe the rest of the glass off; I'll wash the dress after I'm through cleaning I decide. With every stroke of my hand more of the picture is revealed to me, how could I have let this waist away in the bottom of a box? I feel ashamed, would Peter be mad at me if he were still here?  
  
The painting is of me. It was his idea to do it in front of the fireplace. I remember asking him one day, how he got to be such a great artist, in false hope of being a painter someday myself. He told me a lot of things and showed me many different techniques. I wish I could remember all of them but I do recall what he told me about shading. 'The representation of light and shade in a picture is what makes all the difference' he told me.  
  
I was so nervous posing for this painting now that I think back on it. It was late at night and I was downstairs standing next to the recently lit fireplace waiting for Peter to return with his art supplies. I wore my white silk robe, not that I would be using the garment for to long however. I remember seeing his painting of Betsy a few years back, she was lying on a bed in a lovely pose and immediately decided that I had to have one as well. I thought nothing of it when asked if he could paint me like this but now I feel a little... unready.  
  
A few feet in front of the fireplace is the rug I'll be laying on. It is a giant white rug that Peter found in the basement. He washed it and showed it to me, said it would go well with my hair, so I agreed. About a yard beyond the rug is a small stool and stand just in front of it with a painting board on it. I let out my breath unsteadily as I here someone coming.  
  
"Okay, little sister, most everybody in the mansion is in their respective rooms. I saw Logan wondering the halls and asked him not to come in this room so everything is secure, shall we began?" Peter says to me as he walk in holding his art supplies.  
  
"Alright." I nod my head and walk back over to the fireplace.  
  
Normally I'm not ashamed of being undressed in front of my teammates however this was different. I could not understand why I was so afraid to do this. I took a deep breath hoping he would not notice my nervousness as I untied my robe and let it fall down my shoulders. I folded it by habit and handed it to him as he took a seat on his stool.  
  
I did not know what I expected him to say but he was strictly professional witch made me relax a little. I sat down on the rug and waited for him to instruct me on what to do. He put his hand on his chin and narrowed his eyebrows. His eyes were glancing at the area around me more than were on me. I imagine that he was trying to figure out the best way to go about doing this. After an uncomfortable silence he finally returns his attention to me.  
  
"I want you to lay on your on your back." He tells me, his voice empty of any tone.  
  
"Like this?" I ask, complying with his request.  
  
A few seconds go by before he answers me. His hand is still fastened to his chin as his eyes burn a hole through my exposed body. "Raise you inside leg up, just a little." He says after a while now moving his hands to set up his tools around him.  
  
I raise my leg up, not too much like he asked me. " Is this enough?" I ask nervously. I wonder if he can here it in my voice.  
  
"Perfect." He says lowering the stand so that he can see me over the picture board. "Alright umm... put your left hand on your stomach."  
  
"Right here?"  
  
"Lower."  
  
I comply. It feels awkward obey his every 'command' like some puppet. It is like being voluntarily helpless. I am not sure I like this feeling.  
  
"Arch your back a little." He says reaching for his brushing in preparation to begin.  
  
"Like this?" I ask pushing my chest in the air.  
  
"Not that much." He says to me.  
  
I feel very ashamed as I lower my chest a little. He is taking this very professional though. I expected him to be all about his work but to this degree...  
  
"Great. Now I need you to hold still for the first ten minutes or so." I agree with him as he begins, trying not to breathe to hard for fear of ruining everything.  
  
Snapping back to the present my minds traces every aspect of the painting. He claimed that it wasn't up to his caliber but for the life of me I can not find anything wrong with it. The way the light given off by the fireplace illuminates certain parts of me, his attention to detail is remarkable. All the way down to the rug I am laying on.  
  
I remember why I did not hang this up somewhere. I would have felt conceited placing this in my room but I did not want to put it in the halls so I put it in this box until I could decide what to do with it.  
  
I return my attention to the picture again. If you look very closely my eyes are blue and looking towards him. I remember never taking my eyes off his face the whole time.  
  
"You can relax now," He said to me after about fifteen minutes. I did not budge an inch. " I'm gonna need you to stay there though so I can get the colors and lighting down." He looked up at me and his brush stopped. "You know Betsy was a lot more talkative." I tried to force a smile but came up with nothing. "Come on, little sister, why are you so tense. This is going to come out beautifully, I can see that already." That made me feel better.  
  
"Thank you." I am not sure if it came out as anything more than whisper.  
  
The last of the dirt is off of the frame now and I take it in for all it's worth. In the corner I see that he signed it like I asked him to. I run my finger over his name and am surprised to see a tear drop land on the painting. I did not think I would cry but my emotions have got the better of me.  
  
Oh Piotr, I miss you. Do you remember when you promised me you would show me your farm in Russia and I in turn promised to show you my homeland.  
  
I am openly crying now as I bang my fist into the floorboards.  
  
I broke my promise, little brother. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you. I look through the skylight window of the attic. It is a very sunny day outside and it has been a while since I've enjoyed the air rushing past my body. I stand up with the picture in my hands using my sleeve to wipe the single tear from it.  
  
"Thank you," I say holding my voice steady. "Little brother." 


End file.
